Angels of Redemption
by Ms.MaraJade
Summary: During his usual routine of preparing for mealtime, Aramis is haunted by the ghosts of those he left behind on an especially significant day. Part of the October Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Haunted Houses.


_Author's Notes_ : I had started this idea as a standalone prior to the announcement of the October challenge, but as I was writing it, I realized it would weave well with the idea of hauntings. *Please note the "Additional Author's Notes" at the end of the story regarding the lack of a certain minor character. I hope that this entry meets with the expectations and rules of the challenge, and that it captures the spirit of "The Musketeers."

 _Disclaimer_ : I do not own "The Musketeers" in any capacity with the exception of the books written by Alexandre Dumas from where these characters were inspired. There is no money made from this hobby, but that does not stop my imagination from conjuring up new stories.

 _Summary_ : During his usual routine of preparing for mealtime, Aramis is haunted by the ghosts of those he left behind on an especially significant day. Part of the October Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Haunted Houses.

 **Angels of Redemption**

Pouring the simmering broth into the simple, wooden bowl, he couldn't help but breathe in the contents of the steaming, hot vegetables as they slid out of the ladle. There was just enough parsley floating over the top of the liquid to offer a fanciful garnish and just enough salt in the broth to give the concoction flavor. However, it was no secret that the warm bread accompanying the meal was the one ingredient that complemented it so well. The golden brown, outer crust was just chewy enough to dip into the broth without it growing soggy, and the pristine, doughy center was soft and sweetened, the recipe calling for a secret ingredient that he eventually learned was a touch of honey.

Aramis set the simple meal down before him on the table that was situated beneath the wooden candelabra hanging from the ceiling. He counted six prepared place settings around the rectangular table, with an empty plate and a knife before his seat. He confirmed that each setting had a broth-filled bowl, a spoon and a fork, a small wooden cup of milk, and a thick handful of bread that had been torn from a much larger loaf. He then put a large bowl with seven apples in the middle of the table, one for each of them and one for himself. As usual, he would take the remainder of the broth from the pot and the scraps of bread only after the rest of them had eaten their fill.

It was this nightly ritual that Aramis had come to savor, and he would often use this time to suppress the demon of his past life. Months ago, he had discovered a calm in arranging the evening meal for the occupants who lived here, using the work to keep busy enough to prevent his past from steadily haunting him. He had been unsuccessful in fully keeping those memories locked entirely within that prison of his soul, but knowing he had others who depended on him gave him the strength to keep the demon at bay.

While Aramis fully admitted in his time here that had never been one for kitchen chores, he was always the first to confess that he did not like the physical work involved with meal preparation. In fact, he was told many times that he was not very good at it, leaving the actual cooking instead to those at this residence who were far better suited for such talents.

The resident who had prepared the meal had left a while ago to return to his other duties, and Aramis had been instructed to merely stir the pot occasionally before pouring the vegetable broth into the bowls and setting them on the table.

Inhaling the scent of the flavors in the room, Aramis came to understand that it was this moment that he had found some sense of solace within. There was something he had learned to appreciate with these preparations, discovering a calm in himself while arranging the place settings at the table and enjoying the silent anticipation for when they would arrive and share their time together with him. Their presence had the unique ability to ease so many instances of his loneliness, and he took comfort in their company.

It was not too unlike the many hours in the garrison courtyard, where he and his brothers would spend their time laughing, consoling, grieving, and celebrating. Feeling his heart fall briefly, Aramis pushed aside those lasting moments of camaraderie from his memories, reminding himself that his choices had led him to others who now depended on him.

Distracting himself with straightening a spoon on the table and knowing it was only a temporary gesture at best, Aramis allowed himself to smile again in this calm moment that always followed after his work was done. He then turned from the candle-lit room, with its single table and pair of wooden benches that awaited occupants on opposite sides of the table. He poked his head out of the doorway and looked into the hallway.

"I assume all is ready?" the older man asked with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He stood tall with a thin, lanky frame, his dark brown, woolen robes hanging loosely upon him. The wooden cross around his neck fell to near his belly, and his folded hands always gave the impression that he was in perpetual prayer.

Bowing his head slightly, Aramis returned the kind smile, allowing the peace that the men here offered to course through him. "Of course, Brother."

Bowing in reply, the older man chuckled, "Then, let me be on my way, and let you tend to your duties. You don't need my interference, especially when they all have accepted you more warmly than they had the rest of us."

Moving down the hallway in the opposite direction from the older man, Aramis found the doorframe he sought and heard a young voice speaking in a narrator's tone. He looked inside the multi-bedded room, appearing momentarily like a garrison bunker for musketeers than the holy place of its current occupants. His eyes caught sight of the older girl, Bernadette, reading a book to the small group of children sitting amongst the mattresses on two of the beds as she sat on another one across from them. She was a kind-looking girl with brown hair and brown eyes, her skin pale, and her body nearly as tall as Aramis, but in a thin frame.

According to what Bernadette knew of her birthday, she was going to turn thirteen next week – on Wednesday she claimed. It would be her first birthday without her parents, as her mother's life was taken during the winter's harshest storm, and her father was a victim of the war with Spain. Her father's thirst for France's glory and a steady pension was cut short by a cannonball strike while he was stationed along the border – or so declared the survivors who returned to Bernadette's village to tell the tale.

Bernadette, along with two of the other children in the room, were brought to the abbey and told to stay with the brothers until someone could find a way to get them to an orphanage. Aramis had been unable to stop himself from speaking on the children's behalf and begged for the brothers to let him care for them and raise them until adequate homes could be sought. While he didn't know then that he would be the principal custodian of all the children that found themselves on the abbey's doorstep, he also found himself gladly in their charge.

Smiling in his warm way, Aramis let his eyes roam over each of the children, noting that their humble clothing was a medley of remnants that they brought with them from their old lives and donations left at the abbey. Feeling a moment of calm come over him, Aramis took in their innocent faces as they listened intently to the story of Noah and the Ark, with its parable of patience, in which Noah and his entourage were forced to wait out the great flood for forty days and forty nights. Aramis regretted that these children had very little literature to choose from in the abbey and were limited to only the Bible and some hymn books. It was often why on their excursions from the abbey and other moments alone with them that he would tell the children stories of his exploits with his long-lost brothers in the King's Musketeers. He believed that children needed adventures as much as they needed discipline and faith in order to develop fully into decent adults.

Feeling his eyes pass over the children that were enthralled in the story of Noah, Aramis came to find a uniqueness in this group of orphaned refugees, and he caught himself haunted with memories of his own past. There was Bernadette, the oldest and wisest of them, who was a steadfast reminder of his former Captain Treville. Young Marie had a gentle kindness that was a reflection of the concern Constance always exhibited towards her musketeer friends. Marcel and Georges were true-blooded brothers that might as well have been younger versions of Porthos and himself. They were nearly inseparable and lively with a bond that was more than their shared blood of parentage. Jean-Marie, who preferred to be called "Joan," reminded him of Athos, as she often sat alone, seeming to brood in her own way, but she could be charming and cordial when involved in the group. And, of course, there was the excited and playful Charles, who regularly looked upon Aramis with a wide-eyed admiration that was not too unlike how D'Artagnan perceived his older musketeer brothers.

Shaking his head to clear away the thoughts of the past, Aramis felt his long, shoulder length hair brush along his green, woolen robe reminding him that it had been a few months since he last had it cut. And, as he thought about that, he came to understand that he really had no reason to trim his hair since he was not involved in conflicts of the physical variety any more, and he could relax from such regulations. Feeling himself smile inwardly to himself, Aramis realized that the thoughts of his hair had managed to distract him from the time he had spent away from the ghosts that had recently released from their prison within his broken heart.

Missing his musketeer family was one thing, but missing the woman who bore the child of his own flesh and blood…Aramis brushed his hand across his face and felt the thickening of his goatee, reminding him that he was due for a shaping tonight, before his facial hair got unruly. He took a deep breath, grateful for the distraction of his personal appearance habits and forced the images of that other life to the back of his head. These children needed him now, and he had accepted handling their needs selflessly, taking his place to care for them in lieu of the child that he had chosen to leave safely unaware of his existence.

"Supper is ready," Aramis told the children, forcing down the haunting pain, trying to forget for what felt like the hundredth time in the last couple hours that today marked the dauphin's second birthday.

Instead of dwelling on that sole child that was his own and had the fortune of being raised in royalty, Aramis shifted his attention to these desolate, young lives that needed him far more. Looking at their smiles, he felt the kind twinkling surface in his eyes, and he vowed silently again that these innocents would never know that broken side of him – the side where the sinner resided who had made rash decisions with his heart and had paid dearly for such actions.

As usual, the boys moved faster than the girls at his announcement – Marcel and Georges nearly tripping over each other to get to the doorway – just as they did for every meal and every outing. Aramis pondered for a moment if he and Porthos were ever that competitive, and as another stray memory pressed into his mind, he had no choice but to admit that in their early days within the musketeer ranks, they absolutely were. It wasn't until they had grown close over the course of a number of months that he and Porthos had become less competitive and more compassionate towards each other – allowing, of course, for the jovial banter that defined their brotherly bond.

Stepping in the boys' way, Aramis blocked the doorframe and held up a hand calmly, his actions giving Marcel and Georges their usual pause. "Easy, you too. We will wait for the others, and then we will all civilly go together."

Marcel, the nine-year-old with the light brown hair and blue eyes glanced at his older brother, Georges, who was the eleven-year-old that shared similar features. The younger boy asked, "Will you tell us another story during supper?"

Aramis glanced down the hallway behind him, looking to his left and then his right, seeing none of the abbey's brothers moving about. He gave the boys his roguish smile as the others were getting in line behind them.

Lowering his voice softly, he told Marcel, "Only if you let the ladies go to the dining room first. Then, I may be able to tell you about the time I climbed the side of a building."

Feeling his eyes suddenly drop, and his heart clutch at the memory he didn't intend to dredge from his past, Aramis felt the haunting ache of what it was like to hold his son in the presence of the woman he silently swore he loved. It was that ghost of being a family for the first time in his life that was the demon he could never vanquish – no matter how many prayers he offered and how many chores he completed. He left that woman and that child to give them a life without his interference, one in which they would be safe from the accusations that had so bitterly haunted them, and he could never tell anyone that he always carried the demon of treason on his soul – even though his intentions had been entirely pure, borne from love and not from a devious agenda.

"Like a bug?" Georges nearly shouted, waking Aramis from the memories that passed so easily before him.

Subtly shaking his head to return to the present, Aramis raised his hand again and requested the boy to lower his voice. He had no choice now but to tell the tale, and he would have to just abandon certain moments of the truth in order to keep his demon from haunting the story these children so desperately wanted to hear.

"Not quite like a bug, but it's still exciting enough," Aramis smiled as he noticed the anticipation in Georges' eyes.

The girls had made their way to the front of the line, their irises shining in their own anticipation for another of Aramis' stories, as the boys parted a path for them. Aramis then led the group to their dining area, listening as the children chattered quietly amongst themselves about what Aramis' story could possibly be about. He kept his smile hidden at their speculation, reminding them only once to remain quiet in the hallway, as they had learned through gentle discipline that it was impolite to make loud noises while in the hallways of the abbey. The group of them had been gently punished months ago by spending two hours sitting in silence in the chapel after they had been told that one of the brothers, who was quietly working on copying a manuscript, had been distracted by their commotion and had made a grievous spelling error, forcing him to burn the sinned copy and then restart the book from the beginning.

As they entered the dining room, each of the children had their preferred places, and as they gathered around the table, settling on the benches, they knew the ritual that followed.

Aramis took his seat at the head of the table, and they all clasped hands. He closed his eyes as they all bowed their heads, and they started into the before-meal prayer. At the end of the orchestrated words that made up the prayer that they had all been taught from the time they were all young enough to memorize it, Aramis began their personalized ritual where he had requested that at every supper meal, each one of them had to offer one thought for which they were thankful. It didn't matter how serious or strange it sounded, as long as it was sincere and truthful.

"I am thankful for all of you, and for all of us being able to be here, safe and healthy, once again for evening meal," Aramis told the children softly.

Then, it went around the table in a counterclockwise circle from Aramis' right, each child in turn giving thanks. Bernadette was first, followed by Georges and Marcel. On the other side of the table, it was Joan, Charles, and Marie, who was the youngest sitting on Aramis' left.

"For this home, no matter how temporary or permanent it lasts," Bernadette said quietly.

"For this food, and all our meals," Georges offered with a smile heard in his words.

Marcel had a pride in his thanks that was laced with joy. "For my friends here."

Joan's no-nonsense voice was solemn. "For the kindness of the brothers here."

"For Aramis keeping us happy when it's hard to be some days," Charles said confidently.

Marie's voice came across as shy, seeming uncertain what to say, but eventually she was able to give thanks, regardless of it seeming meaninglessness. "For the…for the…for the birds that sing in the morning."

Opening their eyes, Aramis looked across the table and nodded for the children to start eating, now that the matters of prayer and reflection had been handled. As usual, Georges and Marcel heartily dug into their well-cooled broth and vegetables, almost seeming to compete with who would finish their meal first. The others ate with the refinements of their ages, a few of them showing the maturity of their years. Marie, on the other hand, slurped her broth loudly, as her four-year-old body was still learning dexterities and etiquette.

Aramis felt the haunted echoes nagging at him again as he watched the children in their varying ages. He imagined briefly what his son would be like at each of the different stages of his childhood, and as he studied the group around him, he silently wished for just one moment to give his son a kiss on his forehead and offer some gem of wisdom as he enters into his next year. He was certain that there was a lavish celebration taking place for him at the palace with a feast, wines, cakes, and more presents than a two-year-old could comprehend. It was everything that Aramis could never give to his son, even if he had stayed a musketeer.

"Did you fall?" Georges asked, as he looked up from his broth, his question breaking Aramis from those haunting memories again.

 _In love like an angel into Hell_ , Aramis silently answered before realizing that the boy's question did not have to do with his demon, but his adventures.

"Yes, Aramis, you promised to tell us how you climbed a wall!" Marcel chimed in with excitement, his bowl nearly empty.

Reaching forward, Aramis brought one of the apples to the empty plate before him and took the knife beside it to cut the fruit into wedges. Clearing his head, he needed to filter out the emotion and tell the tale simply as an adventure story. These children could not be brought into his haunted memories and become lost in the labyrinth that was his regret of the life he could never have. Instead, he paused in cutting the apple to take the empty bowls from the children who wanted seconds and refilled them as he started his altered recollections.

"It was the day of the great eclipse," he said setting the bowl before Marcel and then picking up Joan's to put more broth in it. "The king and queen and their entourage were invited by a renowned astronomer named Marmion to view it, using special equipment that would allow them to see it without causing their eyes to hurt. What we didn't know was that Marmion had a vendetta against the king for a mistake the king had made on Marmion's village many years prior. Even the king did not know of this mistake, and he was regretful, offering Marmion consolation for his errors…"

"When does the wall come in?" Charles interrupted as he swallowed down a mouthful of milk, his blonde hair slipping forward and nearly covering his eyes.

Aramis gave a short laugh, reminding himself that he would need to cut Charles' hair in the morning as he passed an apple slice now to the red-haired Marie who was looking at the slices expectantly with her hazel irises.

"If you want the full story, you must show patience, Charles," Aramis said, feeling the twinkle return to his eyes.

This – he realized as a calm washed over him while he looked up once more to the children and their anticipatory faces – this was what he loved most. He was a storyteller, and it was telling his stories to these children that filled him with life at this abbey, even when he was haunted by those ghosts of his past life. These moments where he could weave magic with words were the enchantments that deflected the demon of regret within him, and he would give these children the story they all longed to hear.

Sitting at the table again and cutting more apples for the children to enjoy as he spoke, Aramis leaned forward, lowering his voice to keep it from the passing brothers as they walked about the hallway on the way to their own supper.

"Marmion didn't accept the king's apologies, and he didn't want the generous compensation that was offered. Instead, he had grown mad with bloodlust, and he wanted the king to suffer. I had done my best to negotiate the lives of the women and the children, and for my efforts, Marmion's underlings threw me out the window."

"Did you fly like an angel?" Marie asked softly after her gasp had filled the room.

Shaking his head, Aramis looked upon her with a gentleness that showed he appreciated her sweet concerns. "No, I could not fly, but I believe an angel had caught me."

"Did you see her?" Marie now asked.

"There are no girl angels," Charles quickly admonished, his brown irises looking at the girl as though she was silly for her question. "Everyone knows that Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and the other angels are all boys."

Marie was not convinced, and her retort was fast. "But, angels are too pretty to all be boys."

"Now, now," Aramis cautioned gently as he shifted his glance between the two children. "Have either of you ever seen an angel for yourselves?"

When both of them shook their heads, Aramis continued his tale. "Well, I have not seen one either, but I do not think God would mind if Marie wants girl angels and Charles wants boy angels. Now, when I was thrown out that window, there was some miracle that saved me, as I did not land on the ground. There was a landing just a story below me, and I had woken up a little while later. Since we are not allowed to see angels, I believe he or she had put me to sleep until it was safe for him or her to return to heaven."

"You're still not climbing the wall yet," Marcel pressed, speaking up before his brother, Georges, could remind Aramis of his negligence in the story.

Joan jumped in this time, her eyes entirely enthralled in the tale. "Aramis said to be patient, Marcel. You're as bad as Georges with your interruptions."

"Hey, I didn't say anything," Georges argued. "Charles interrupted more than I did."

Aramis smiled and raised a hand to calm the children. "Settle down, all of you, and I will continue."

Almost collectively, the children looked amongst themselves and then apologized.

"Now, after I had awoken," Aramis said, taking a moment to glance separately at Marcel, then Georges, and finally Charles, "I realized that the only way I could get back inside to save the king and queen was to climb up to an open window. First, I had to remove the glass shards from my hair and back, and then I needed to assess the best pathway. The building was an old fort and made from stone and wood. The stone was smooth in some places but very rough in others, and I feared that some of the wooden beams I would encounter would be splintery, which would make my climb very painful if I wasn't careful."

"Surely, you must have had gloves," Bernadette smartly offered. "Wearing them would have helped."

Aramis gave a rueful shrug of his shoulders, as he passed around the plate of apple slices he had cut. "It was a warm, summer day, and the gloves would have only made me too hot so they remained at the garrison. An error on my part, I'm afraid."

"What happened next?" Marie asked before biting into another slice of apple.

Aramis felt the smile on his face as he glanced at the youngest of them before looking around the room again. "I reached up to the nearest ledge, testing it with my weight to determine how rough the stone was. It was not unbearable, and as I pulled myself up, I found my feet could brace along another ledge. I had to move carefully, but quickly, as the building was old. In fact, as I came around the corner, a chunk of stone broke away, and I nearly fell. When I looked down, I realized I had nothing beneath me to catch me, and I knew I could not depend on an angel to save me twice in the same day – regardless if it was a boy or a girl."

Aramis winked at Marie and Charles at the mention of the angel's gender, and as the empty plate that recently had the apples made its way back to him, he placed it on the table before him. He propped himself on his elbows as they were resting on the table now, aware of the children leaning in closer as he continued with his story. A warmth flooded within him at how they were all so enthralled, and he always hoped he would not disappoint in his old adventures.

"It was not easy to climb the side of a building," Aramis explained, "But, I persisted in my efforts knowing that if I failed, the king and queen might not live. My arms were tired and sore, my face was cut and still bleeding in places, and my back felt trampled upon. Every movement I took hurt, but I had to keep climbing upwards to the open window that I knew would get me inside. The angel had saved me, and I knew it was so I could protect the king and queen. When I finally got into that open window, I noticed that the hallways were scattered with the men who were working for Marmion, and I had to be quiet. As I studied them, I realized that they were guarding a couple locked doors, and I figured that the king and queen must be behind one of them."

Joan sat up straight again, her words picking out the details that Aramis had failed to explain earlier. "You didn't mention if you had any weapons. Couldn't you have just used a musket or a sword? Aren't those common weapons for the king's protectors?"

Nodding, Aramis looked to Joan. "Good observation, Joan. Unfortunately for me, Marmion's men had taken all of my weapons, but I noticed that one of the men who was guarding one of the doors was carrying my musket. I decided he would be my target, and it took a little manipulation to get him isolated. Once I did, he and I fought. I was already sore from the fall, and his punches were not easy to ignore. Yet, I somehow managed to overpower my foe, and as soon as I got my musket in my hand, I struck it across his temple. The man fell to the ground, and he would not hurt anyone else again. I found the keys to the room on him, and I ran to the room, unlocking it."

"Who was there?" Marie asked, her hazel eyes wide as though unable to hold in the question.

"It was the queen," Aramis said proudly, intentionally leaving out the memories of the dauphin, the governess, and that special moment of being a family that he had shared with Anne and his son. He was using the enthusiasm of these children surrounding him to keep the haunting demon of that day from tearing his heart anew. None of them needed to know that he and Queen Anne had shared a night and a forbidden love that had produced the dauphin. Quietly, he reiterated, "I had rescued the queen."

"And, the king?" Charles pressed. "What happened to him?"

"A survivor of the king's entourage had gotten free and brought Captain Treville, Athos, and a few other musketeers with her," Aramis supplied, using the boy's question to keep him from allowing the ghosts to haunt him right now. "They saved the king, and that afternoon we all returned safely to the palace."

Joan, always seeking the facts, questioned, "What happened to Marmion?"

Smiling at the girl's attention for details, Aramis answered, "He was the victim of his own demise. His actions had caught him in a fight for which he could not win, and he had died that afternoon. The men who still survived were rounded up and sent to prison for crimes against the king and queen."

"That was amazing!" Marcel exclaimed, then lowered his voice as he realized he was a little too loud. "You had so much excitement in the King's Musketeers. Why would you ever want to live a quiet life here?"

Aramis folded his hands before him, and looked around the room, considering his actions over the last year and its many months that followed. He took in each of the children, his smile extending from one to the next, and his eyes twinkling at them all until he had completed his circuit around the table.

"I believe God led me to you all," Aramis told them confidently. "It seems that He had a plan for us, and He wanted me to be here for you, rather than allow each of you to get lost in an orphanage."

Georges stared at Aramis. "Do you miss it? Do you miss your friends and your adventures?"

Feeling his eyes drop to his folded hands, Aramis nodded silently for a long moment. He could feel the demon knocking against his heart and the ghost of a kiss passing over his lips from a woman he could no longer know in such a capacity. He missed the camaraderie of his brothers – their laughter, their tears, their frustrations, and everything else they had ever endured together.

"Of course, I miss it," Aramis answered softly. Then, he brought his eyes up again, looking to the eager faces of the children around him. "I miss it as much as any of you surely miss your lives before the war with Spain. But, I have to keep to my faith that God has given us all a path that has intersected for a reason, and right now, you all need someone to care for you. I've seen the six of you grow close, like a family, and I have had no regret to be a part of your family. Each of you, in your own ways, have provided me with little reminders of the family I knew at the Musketeer Garrison, and I almost feel that God has done that intentionally. He works in mysterious ways, and right now we are all the family we need."

Each of the children, in turn, looked around the table at one other. Then, without any words spoken amongst them, they all huddled around Aramis, and as a solitary entity, they hugged him. He smiled while lost in the tangle of small arms, his eyes closing against them, happy that he was doing something good here at the abbey. These children needed him, and while he swore off the temptations of the world outside the abbey walls, he still had the unfaltering instinct to be a father to the one child that was not in his presence.

After a few, long moments, the children released Aramis, and they gave him room. He pressed a hand to his face to remove a tear he hadn't realized had slipped free.

"Thank you, but what was that for?" he asked.

"We saw that you were sadder than normal today," Joan answered.

"It was my idea," Charles admitted.

Bernadette looked at the younger ones, "We knew you needed to know how much we care about you and everything you do for us. We agreed after supper, we would let you see for yourself."

Smiling, Aramis brought his eyes to each of them, deciding that it would be all right if he told them only what they needed to know and nothing more. "Yes, today is a sad day for me. Someone very special that I once knew is having a birthday, and I am unable to be with them."

"Who…" Marcel started, but stopped when Joan smartly hushed him, whispering that it wasn't their business to know.

Aramis again looked at the children huddled around him at the table, realizing that he needed to talk about his ghost, before the demon attacked his joy again. "He is a very special little boy, one I met on my adventures. He is safe now and celebrating a birthday because of my bravery and that of my fellow musketeers."

Marie crept close again and rested her small head against his shoulder. "We don't like you sad."

"It was never my intention to scare any of you," Aramis said as he brought his eyes from the little girl to the others, aware of the empty pang in his heart that he had somehow frightened all these children unknowingly. "I didn't realize I had allowed the ghosts of my memories to haunt you all as well."

Marie lifted her face from him and smiled softly.

"We know you didn't mean it," Bernadette answered for them all. "We are all lonely sometimes, but you help us feel better. We wanted to make you feel better, too."

"Can you tell us another story?" Georges asked enthusiastically before Aramis could reply, breaking the solemn mood.

Marcel quickly followed with, "Something with a sword fight, maybe?"

Aramis suddenly laughed at the children around him now, and the way they could so easily expel his sadness. Still smiling, he told them, "Have I ever told you about the time Captain Treville, the musketeers and I helped train an entire village so they could learn how to fight?"

When the children shook their heads, Aramis motioned for them all to sit again, and he decided that he would eat after he told them this story. He felt a warmth flood through his veins at the kindness these children had for him, and for the first time all day, he no longer had that haunting coldness in his veins. His son was in a caring home, the woman he loved was safe, and as far as he knew his musketeer brothers were thriving in whatever capacity they had been assigned. It was time for him to allow these children to ease his wounded soul and silence the demon of his past mistakes. He had lived far too long with his demon of regret, and these angels of redemption had reminded him that it was time for him to remember his past fondly, not as a prison where he was haunted by it.

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 _Author's Additional Notes_ :

Happy Halloween! While the overall theme had to do with haunted houses, I thought it would be a fun idea to also include the mention of ghosts, demons, and angels.

*I could only find the name of one of the children at the abbey (Luc), and with some artistic license, I had decided to set this story in a timeline that I perceive is before Luc's arrival. This story is approximately two years into Aramis' residency at the abbey, and since I can't remember if Luc's arrival was ever mentioned, I am considering that he had arrived sometime in the months or years after my story's timeline. Omitting Luc was a difficult decision, but ultimately I believed Luc's strong personality would have over-powered the chemistry of the children and the dynamic of my story as it was written.


End file.
